Knockin' On the Devil's Door
by Noxid Anamchara
Summary: Carol and Daryl go on a run to get supplies for Judith and nothing goes as planned when they get attacked. [Reverse What If Scenario]


**Noxi**: This is a _What If Reverse _scenario that was prompted, _given_ to me by the wonderful **Candra 'wolfgal97**. This is originally her idea and I make no claim to owning it. She has simply asked if I would take my hand at writing it. Although this may seem similar to my other fic _In His Arms_, they are not related. It's been in my arsenal of fics for a long time (oh my Muse is fickle), but I am just now waking up from this sleep and feeling alive again within the fandom (thank you return of TWD!). Enjoy kittens!

_The Walking Dead_ belongs to Kirkman and AMC.

* * *

Beautifully Alone

"_You'll never break us," she muttered, her voice catching. It hurt to talk, hurt to breathe, hurt to think. She was tired, and thirsty and she wanted to go _home_. She wanted to know if he was okay, if they'd done anything to him, if he was _alive_. _

_But she would never give this monster anything. If there was _anyone _who could stand up to this monster, it was _him_. And if he could do it so could she. _

_His smile widened, and he laid out the knife across the table, fingering the hilt. _

"_Oh, but I think I will." She couldn't help the shiver that traveled up her spine and sent her heart galloping in her chest. _

_She wouldn't break. She _wouldn't _break._

**xXx**

Sometimes she rode with him just to feel the wind in her hair. Not that she had any left. But it was slowly growing back as she let it, as she grew the strength to let it get a little bit longer each and every day and she loved the feel of the tiny little wisps that tickled her neck.

But she really loved riding with him because of the sense of _freedom _it gave her. There was nothing else like the sense of _flying. _Like she had no more cares in the world. Nothing had ever made her feel that way before. Her whole life had been one cage after another, and since the apocalypse things had changed. She had lost things, things that had meant more to her than her own life.

But she had also gained something she had never thought she would have.

She had also never thought she would _ever _ride a motorcycle. Never thought she would have the courage or ever be given the _permission _to toss her leg so carelessly over the seat and place her hands so firmly onto someone else's hips and hold onto them for all that she was worth. There were _privileges_ she had never been given, and now she was learning she loved to do a lot of things. She was learning she had missed a lot in her life.

Of course now she never wanted to do it with anyone else either.

Riding with Daryl made her forget that the world had ended and that there were walkers waiting around every corner. Riding with him made her feel like a different woman; one with wants, and needs. He made her feel like she was _beautiful_ even if he didn't know it.

But what she really loved? The feel of her hands on his hips, and his body between her legs. The way he shifted with the bike, and how he was so concentrated that he never really noticed she was there; like _she was a part of it too_.

He became one with it, taking them far away, always keeping her safe. He was different on the bike. It was like he was at home on it. He wasn't awkward and unsure. He wasn't afraid of her touch or the way it lingered. It was like here, he knew exactly who he was. Here, it was just him and her, and nothing and nobody else.

And she _loved _that.

She laid her head against his back between the wings on his vest, gently, careful to judge what his reaction might be. He stiffened between her, and glanced over his shoulder.

"Almost there," he called over the rumble of the engine.

She nodded her head, squeezing his hips with her knees just slightly. Talking over the wind and the engine wasn't worth the effort, and he seemed to understand her motion, to _accept _it.

Here on this bike, they could be together and nothing got in the way of that. Not their feelings, or their uncertainty, or their pasts, or anyone else.

It was just_ them. _

And she wouldn't trade that feeling for anything in the world.

**xXx**

"Looks clear to me," she called, the machete held tightly in her hand. She closed her eyes briefly, lifting her face to the sun. It was such a beautiful day, and the silence captured her.

She couldn't hear one _single _walker. Not one moan, or groan. There wasn't the clashing sound of the metal fence in the background, and she couldn't feel their ever constant presence at her back, not their dead eyes gazing hungrily at her. It was just them, alone in this little part of the world.

Just her and Daryl, together.

She couldn't stop the smile that lifted up her cheeks.

She could actually hear the swell of the crickets and cicadas for once in the swell of the heat. She used to hate the way it would drone on in the heat, maybe because it always irritated Ed. But now she would gladly take that noise over any walkers.

"The hell you smilin' bout?" She glanced back to find Daryl standing there, holding the bolt cutters in one hand and his crossbow slung across his shoulder as he stared at her, eyes squinted against the sun. But she knew he was trying to hide the way he was staring at her. She'd caught him doing it a few times and she found she didn't mind.

She could feel her face splitting open as her smile got bigger.

"It's beautiful today," she said, feeling a little giddy. How often did they have a moment where nothing was wrong? There wasn't any danger around and it felt like one of the old days?

He snorted, walking toward the small shop. "Don't count on it stayin' that way," he said back, hunched to the door. She felt that joy slip between her fingers as she tried desperately to hold onto it. She didn't like it when he talked like that.

She walked towards him, and pulled at his arm gently. He stiffened beneath her touch, but he didn't push her away. She curled her fingers around his arm, and waited till he turned towards her.

"But today _is_ beautiful," she remarked gently, the smile tugging at her lips again. "And we shouldn't waste these precious moments that we never get." He glanced down at his feet, scuffing his toe along the dirt.

He shrugged his shoulders and looked up at her again, and she could swear he almost smiled back.

"Why'd ya come along anyway?" he asked suddenly, his voice small.

She let her hand drop from his arm, studying his face. If she could tell him _everything_ she would. Today would be the perfect day for it.

But now really _wasn't _the time. She didn't want to admit it, but Daryl had a point. For as beautiful as today was, and for as good as their day was going it wouldn't stay that way. Something would come along to ruin it.

Something always did.

"I came because Judith needs these things," she said, sighing heavily. She looked back at him, unable to help the smile.

"And because _someone_ needs to keep an eye on you," she remarked slyly.

Sometimes, she thought she could watch Daryl forever. The way his face would shift with whatever he was thinking. He might as well have been an open book, but that didn't mean he was an easy one to read. She liked to think she could handle whatever it was he had to say though.

"Yeah, _sure_," he said, the disbelief lacing his voice. But then he smiled back, just the slightest and he nudged her shoulder back with his.

She felt her face split open as her smile grew wider. She would never get over that, the way he would just break that wall between them with the smallest gesture when she wasn't even expecting it.

It always surprised her in the best ways.

He stepped forward and cut the door open and handed back the bolt cutters. She looped them through her belt and stepped forward, the moment of before go now. Just because there weren't any walkers out here, didn't mean there weren't in there.

She took hold of the door and looked back at him. He held up the crossbow, and nodded.

She counted to two in her head, held her breath, and memorized his face one last time.

And then she pulled the door open.

He ran inside, as her heart pounded a fierce beat in her chest but she didn't hear anything. She jumped out from behind the door, machete held out, but he stood in the doorway, looking around.

"Nothin'," he called, sounding pleasantly surprised by that.

She let out a small breath of relief, and waited as he stepped forward and grabbed a basket to collect the things they needed. She glanced around once to make sure nothing had heard them.

"Jackpot," he called, and she saw him hold up a can of powdered formula and begin taking several more off the shelf. She smiled, feeling the hope curl in her chest.

She glanced around the store, eyes scanning over the items and saw an umbrella, newspaper littered over the floor and then her eyes landed on the tattered doll buried beneath the scattered papers. She felt her chest constrict for a moment, and all she could see was Sophia as that doll stared back at her, broken and battered.

She took a deep breath and moved over it, her eyes finding the duck lying next to it.

"Daryl," she called, and he glanced up, hand going for his crossbow immediately. She pointed to the floor, and he followed her gesture. "Get that duck."

He looked back, his brow raised.

She thought of Judith, her small, fragile hands reaching out to her, and her wide brown eyes staring up at her. She could feel the gentleness in that little girl, and see the innocence in her eyes.

She was a child, and she was theirs to protect and love.

"The duck," she said again. Daryl looked at the duck, removing his hand from his crossbow and just shrugged, picking the basket up from the floor. He leaned down to pick it up, and looked at her questionably.

She smiled softly.

"You know how she likes her baths," she remarked, remembering the last time Daryl had given her a bath and Judith had gotten him all wet, splashing around. She was still too young to know what living in this world was like.

Daryl scowled and tucked the duck into the basket, obviously remembering the same thing. He hiked the crossbow over his shoulder and picked up the basket, scanning the store one last time for anything important he might have missed. And then he walked out, setting the basket next to the bike. She'd have to fit the things into the saddlebags but it would be fine.

Daryl squinted his eyes up at the sun, and then held something out to her, avoiding her gaze. She looked down at his hand stretched out between them, and she saw one of those small, plastic windmill toys held delicately in his fingers, twirling softly in the breeze that blew passed her, the multicolored fan spinning slowly.

Surprised, she reached out to take it. She couldn't believe that Daryl had decided to pick this up, on a whim. Something inside of her warmed.

And then something move out of the corner of her eye and she watched as Daryl spun on his heel, dropping the windmill, and he lifted the crossbow. Carol turned, knife gripped so tight in her hand that she felt her knuckles strain in protest but wasn't fast enough as an arm circled around her neck.

"Well, well, well." Panic wormed its way through her belly, as her air was cut off by the arm choking her. She reached up with her free hand, to pull it away when she felt the cold metal of a gun at her temple. She dropped the machete in her hand.

She froze and her eyes sought out Daryl. He stood before her, still, crossbow still raised but now pointing at _her _as well. She swallowed hard, and tried to take a steadying breath.

"Nuh uh, no way in hell man," he said, pushing the gun harder against her temple.

Daryl's blue eyes connected with hers, and for a moment she could see the anger and the _fear_ clouding them, and she knew he wanted to kill this man. But as much as he wanted to kill him, he was afraid for her. She shook her head, just barely, and closed her eyes.

"What do you want?" Daryl asked, raising his crossbow in surrender, his eyes still on Carol.

She was pulled tighter against his chest and she cringed. He loosened his grip on her neck only to push a knife to her throat this time. She pulled away from it, never taking her eyes off Daryl as his jaw clenched tight, his throat bobbing. The man pointed the gun at Daryl this time, and Daryl looked like he didn't care.

"Came out here lookin' for a runaway," he said dangerously, and Carol didn't like the shiver that ran up her neck. "Seems I found myself somethin' better."

Daryl flicked his eyes between the gun and her, and she knew without needing to think about it what he wanted to do. And she just stared at him, hoping he would understand that she wanted him to do it. Whoever he was, it wasn't good. She would rather Daryl try his hand at this man, and whatever happened to her be damned, then put their lives in this man's hands.

Daryl lunged for the gun, and she reached up, pulling at the knife at her throat. He cursed in her ear, and the gun went off. She felt a sting at her neck and something warm coated her skin. But it didn't register, not as she fought for the knife, and he fought Daryl for the gun.

And then, she screamed.

White hot pain shot through her leg, and she looked down to see a small knife jutting out from her thigh. She bit her lip to stop from crying out, but that didn't stop the small tears of pain at the corners of her eyes. She looked to see Daryl holding the gun at them both, the man panting in her ear behind her. They were on the ground, and she realized the knife was at her throat again. She hadn't thought about him having more than one knife.

"You wanna go?" he said out of breath, pressing the knife against her throat and she took a sharp intake of breath. "Fine," he spat, standing up and pulling her with him. Daryl kept the gun trained on them, but she could see the conflict in his eyes and she hated that this was all her fault.

_Always my fault_ she thought.

"But your woman's comin' with me." She had to walk backwards as he took a step back, the knife at her throat.

Daryl followed, the gun still up, unsure of what to do now. He looked at her neck, and then down at her leg and he looked panicked.

"Daryl just go – "

He reached down and twisted the knife in her leg causing her to scream out.

"Shut up!" he screamed, pulling her along with him. "She's coming with _me_," he spat, and she stumbled, white hot pain lancing down her leg.

"And you," he called, stopping a moment, "you can come too."

She shook her head, silently pleading with Daryl to just go back. She didn't want him to put his life in danger as well. One was enough. If he went back, he could get the others. If he left, only one of them would have to suffer.

"Unless you just wanna leave her to me," he said, pressing the blade harder to her skin and she could feel the warmth as it slid down her throat. She didn't know if Daryl was going to shoot or jump them, or both he looked so angry.

But Daryl just lowered the gun and stepped forward, still holding her gaze. She heard him chuckle behind her.

"You're driving." And as he pulled her away, toward the truck he must have had waiting, she couldn't help as her eyes landed on the windmill left discarded on the ground, trampled, and broken, still trying to spin in the breeze.

* * *

**A/N**: And so it begins. Your thoughts would be very much appreciated!

**Reverse!Prompt**: Martinez captures Daryl and Carol, instead of Merle taking Maggie and Glenn.


End file.
